Base Pairs and Gray Hair
by circlesquare
Summary: The night after Delphine follows Cosima to Felix's apartment. It takes place post-1x10 Endless Forms Most Beautiful. Cosima/Delphine, Cophine, Science Girlfriends, femslash


Flesh and bone. That's what we are. Atoms and molecules. Chromosomes and base pairs. Pairs of letters are all wrapped up together and somehow it makes this lifeform that we can classify. It has two arms, two legs. It walks upright. It has a foolish heart and poor reasoning skills. It is human.

324B21.

I'm 324B21.

She smiled when she said it. She smiled with lips that are hers alone. There is no other Delphine out there in the world. She is singular. She is a snowflake. She is a limited edition portrait - the only one ever painted. I am a hotel painting - thousands just like me are hanging on faded wallpaper across the globe.

And here she is, laying next to me on this couch. The room is quiet. Everyone must be asleep. Sarah snores somewhere, and Felix nudges her. They are restless for a moment, then fall silent again.

I think Delphine is asleep, too. Her chest moves in a steady motion, and her ribs look heavy. I don't want to move. I don't want to wake her. But I must see her face. I must see her singular face. I must see it's shadows in the darkness of this loft. This moment, and these shadows on her face, they will never occur again.

Ever since I sent her away from my apartment, I have felt time move through my fingers. I am rushing to get somewhere. I thought I was rushing to get here, to Sarah and Alison, who I guess I can call family now. But now that I've arrived, I'm still rushing somewhere. The blood I've coughed up is chasing me. It can only mean one thing - I'm running out of time.

I'm running out of time and I must see Delphine's face.

But if I move, I will definitely wake her.

Instead, I move my hand up and place it on her breast bone. Her body is warm beneath the white cotton shirt. Her breath continues on, and now I can feel the steady beat of her heart beneath my palm. This is the rhythm of time slipping away. This is the rhythm.

I suddenly become aware of how different the rhythm of my breath is from hers. I panic and try to match them up, but somehow I never quite get it right. I try to tell myself to relax, but the more I try to relax and ignore her breath - and her heart and her warmth - the more I feel like I am drowning.

I have to move something, so I move my hand. I move my hand to her breast, because that's where my hand wants to go. My hand wants to go there because my hand knows I am running out of time. I squeeze her through her bra. I hear her sigh and take a breath.

I know she is awake now, but she is silent. Her breath is as irregular as mine. I squeeze her breast again. She takes another breath, but says nothing. I know that if I look up, I will see her shadowy eyes looking back at me. I feel as though I absolutely must look up at her face, but I can't. Instead, I move my hand down - very slowly - to the bottom of her shirt. She becomes very still. She becomes so still that I hesitate.

But I am only a living organism, after all. I have two arms, two legs. I walk upright. I have a foolish heart and poor reasoning skills. I was made this way.

I am living. I am alive.

The part of me that is alive pushes my hand under her shirt. That part of me makes my heart pound with endorphins and adrenalin and other hormones that make me feel good. I know she is alive, too. I know that the same chemical processes are happening in her brain. I know this because she lets out a little moan.

In the dark, she moves her wrist up to cover her mouth. She doesn't make another sound, but when my fingers trace circles on her stomach, her hips trace circles of their own. I watch the patterns she makes. This is the rhythm of time slipping away. This is the rhythm and I am hypnotized.

She grabs my hand and pushes it down. She seems impatient. Perhaps she can feel time, too. She pushes her hips up, and she holds my palm right there - right there.

Laying next to her, it's easy to unbutton her jeans. So I do. She is still impatient. She takes it upon herself to shimmy out of them a little. I can tell she is trying to be quiet, but also trying to make things easy for me.

I slip my hand down, down. I feel her warmth. I feel her body and all its parts. I inspect them with a wild curiosity. She pushes her hips up against me - hard. Before I know it, I'm up on my elbow, with my body hovering over hers. I am quickly moving past exteriors. She pulls me into her. Quickly we find our own rhythm. She tries to go fast. She clings to my arms. She hugs me with her whole body. But I have to slow her down. I have to be deliberate. This is the rhythm of time passing. Time is rushing by us, but I will not rush this.

Finally, I look up. I look into her shadowy face. It is not as shadowy as I had expected. There is a light coming from somewhere in the apartment. It must be a computer screen or some other appliance. Her face is illuminated with a soft artificial blue. Only her brown eyes are dark. Her hair is a beautiful silver. The small wrinkles around her eyes and in the creases of her smile stand out.

I have a vision of us as old ladies, waking up together and laughing at our gray hair and sagging bodies. It's silly, because even if I do live to be old, the odds that I would be with Delphine are slim.

But F that! It's my pathetic human right to dream of getting old with her.

I realize her wrinkles are standing out because she is smiling. I smile back at her. I wonder if she just read my mind because her expression changes. She looks at me as if she knows that I have just lost something. She touches my face and our bodies slow down.

Our movements become long and full of intention.

She is saying, "I'm sorry." And I am saying, "I'm scared."

This is the rhythm of time slipping away. This is the rhythm.


End file.
